Whispers in the Dark
by Herculade
Summary: After centuries of loneliness and regret, two gods find each other in the darkness. But not everyone is pleased with this union, and there are some who would seek to turn it to their advantage. Hades/Hera. Rated M for violence and suggestive content. Eventually.
1. Night Thoughts

**A/N: Hello! The name's Herculade, and this is my very first story submitted to this site. But you don't care about that (or if you do, then my profile page is a better place for that sort of thing), so let's get some basics out of the way:**

**This story is rated M for sexual situations, violence, and occasional language. It is based on my own perceptions of the characters of Greek mythology, which has been in the public domain for a couple thousand years now.**

**This first chapter could be considered an introduction. It is the opening of a multi-chapter fic which should be updated again within the next few days. It's shorter than most of the other chapters will be, and nothing is really happening yet, but this is a good way to kick off both the story and my membership with this site. But that's enough out of me until the end of the chapter, so happy reading!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1: Night Thoughts<strong>

Deep in the heart of the Underworld, seated on a throne of ebony in a palace of black marble, Lord Hades sat and brooded. His dark, shoulder-length hair hung in his bright amber eyes as he slumped forward in his seat, one hand stroking the whiskers of his short, full beard. He was dressed in flowing black robes lined with silver, with a cloak and boots to match. His skin was fair in complexion, for no sun ever shone in his kingdom of the dreary dead.

This night, Hades remembered, was the eve of the spring equinox. Persephone, his wife, lay sleeping in her bed. On the morrow, Hades would escort her to Mount Olympus, where she would spend the next six months completely out of his reach. In a way, Hades would miss her; she was his bride, after all. But he also knew that the six months away from her would be six months of silence, six months of not hearing her curse him with her tender lips, six months of not witnessing the hatred in her bright green eyes.

Why did she hate him, he wondered. He had asked himself this question every day for years beyond measure, but still he had no real answer. Yes, he had kidnapped her and brought her to his kingdom. Yes, he had given her the six pomegranate seeds which bound her to him for half of every year. Yes, those things had been terrible, and he regretted them. But those were only two deeds out of many, and he had kept some hope in his heart that he could atone for what he'd done. But not to her. As far as Persephone was concerned, her entire marriage was defined by those two dreadful mistakes.

How easily she forgot the good he'd done for her. How easily she forgot that he had tried every moment of every day since to make up for what he'd done. He had given her everything she'd ever asked: a sprawling garden in the courtyard, the greatest of riches from beneath the earth, even a separate chamber in which to sleep because the thought of sharing a bed with Hades disgusted her. He had always listened to her advice and had always forgiven her mistakes (the Orpheus and Sisyphus incidents, for example). From the moment he became her husband, he had tried everything in his power to earn her love. But it was never enough.

Yes, he had hurt her once. But how many times had she hurt him since? What of her affair with Adonis? Or with _Zeus_, her own father? Hades had not resented her for those. Yet when Hades had tried to take lovers of his own to fill the void in his heart, Persephone had turned them into trees the moment she'd learned their names. No matter how hard he tried, Persephone would always be miserable, and in turn she made certain that hades suffered with her.

Hades reflected on these things, and as he did so, he felt tears begin to sting his eyes. Not tears for Persephone herself; after so many mortal generations, he knew better than to weep for her. These tears were for his own sake, tears for the Lord of the Dead upon whom no mortal or god would take pity. Whom no woman or goddess would love.

And tomorrow, the cycle would begin again. Tomorrow, he would bring Persephone to Olympus and leave her there for half a year. Tomorrow, he would bid his yearly farewell to a woman whom he'd sacrificed so much for, knowing all the while that she would be glad to be rid of him. Tomorrow, his heart would break again.

But tonight, he needed sleep.

Hades heaved a broken sigh and rose from his throne, his eyes still wet with tears that would not fall. He would not shed them; it was not his way. He was Hades: cold and powerful and inexorable, a perfect ruler of the shades of the dead. And yet, he mused as he quietly retired to his chambers, he was also something more. Something that made him feel even more akin to the dead than all his other qualities put together.

He was all alone, and not a soul in the cosmos mourned for him.

* * *

><p>The dark Underworld was not the only place for unpleasant thoughts this night. The gilded halls of Olympus harbored their own restless soul.<p>

Hera, Queen of the Gods, lay awake in her palace. The moonlight which spilled through her bedroom window gently illuminated her slender figure, draped with sheets of purple silk. Long black hair cascaded across her pillows. Blue eyes as deep and as beautiful as the sky stared out into the night. The moon was full and bright, bathing all beneath it in its gentle glow. The stars glittered like precious jewels in the sky. It was an absolutely perfect night – a _romantic_ night.

Hera could never sleep on nights like these.

On nights like these, her husband Zeus would leave the golden halls of his palace without a word to her, and he would not return until the dawn. Hera would go to bed without him, trying desperately to sleep, but unable to shut her eyes because she knew exactly what Zeus was doing. While she lay there alone, her husband was hidden away, limbs entangled with the newest of his endless string of paramours.

Hera wondered what her husband's latest conquest looked like. Was she a mortal or a goddess? A nymph, perhaps? Was she beautiful? Was she even a _woman_? Zeus had already covered the entire spectrum of potential lovers several times over, so Hera couldn't say she would be surprised no matter _what_ he slept with. Frankly, she didn't care anymore. It was something to contemplate as the familiar bitterness set in, but it was not what kept her awake at night whenever Zeus was gone. No, the thoughts that haunted her were even worse.

Hera turned away from the window and stared with regret at the empty space beside her. Her entire life had been defined by Zeus's lust, ever since the beginning of his reign. Hera hadn't been at all interested in him then (in fact, she'd had her eye on another young god) but she had been naïve and unprepared against Zeus's wiles. He had appeared at her window in the form of a _cuckoo bird_ of all things, and she had taken the bait at once. When she'd held the bird to her bosom, Zeus had revealed himself and ravished her where she stood. As the goddess of marriage, Hera had been forced to wed the god who had stolen her maidenhood. She was doomed to remain faithful to a husband she did not love, and to add salt to the wounds, she could only stand idly by while Zeus bedded anyone and everyone who caught his eye.

She suspected that was why he married her in the first place. He knew he would need a queen to rule beside him, but any other woman would have tired of his neglect and left him. But by choosing the patroness of marriage, Zeus had taken a wife whose divine responsibility it was to remain faithful to him, regardless of how much she wished otherwise.

Living in this fashion had made Hera bitter. She could not confront Zeus directly; a few days of dangling from the sky with weights chained to her ankles had taught her that. So instead, she directed her rage toward Zeus's lovers and his bastard children. It was her only outlet for her frustrations, and it soon became her all-consuming obsession. Whenever mortals spoke of her, they spoke only of how she'd hounded Heracles or tormented Leto, how she'd arranged the deaths of Callisto and Semele. Hardly ever did they speak of how she presided over Jason's quest for the Golden Fleece or aided the Greeks during the Trojan War.

Hera hated what she had become. She hated her envy and her bitterness. She hated the eternal quest for vengeance which drove her still. It had taken over every facet of her life, and no matter what else she put her hand to she would always be seen as the spiteful wife of an adulterous husband.

These thoughts of a wasted life brought tears to Hera's eyes, but she refused to shed them even in the privacy of her own bedroom. No matter how angry or remorseful she was, she was still Queen of Olympus. Life had made her bitter, but it had also made her strong, and she was not about to show weakness now. Not even to herself.

With these things still weighing heavily on her mind, Hera finally drifted off to sleep. But her sleep was fitful and plagued with dreams, and when she awoke the next morning, her pillow was stained with tears.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Well, that's that. We get an inside look at our main characters and a sample of what to expect in coming chapters. I'm trying to make the gods three-dimensional and fit together well, but this is at its heart a Hades/Hera story (an underappreciated little pairing, I think). Take that however you will.**

**Reviews of any kind are always welcome, so feel free to share your thoughts. I'm probably shooting myself in the foot by saying "any kind," but I'm willing to go out on a little bit of a limb here.**

**-Herculade**


	2. Coming Home

**A/N: Hey, everybody! Herculade here with another chapter of _Whispers in the Dark_. We're a bit longer this time around and we get to see some character interaction, so that should be fun.**

**Before I begin, though, there are a couple of things I want to mention. The first thing is a little nitpicky: the clothes. No one has called me out on it yet, but I still think it needs to be said. I could go into exhaustive detail describing the _chitons_ and the _peplos(es?) _and the_ himations_, but I don't think I need to. We all know what Greek clothing basically looked like, so general terms like _dress _and _tunic_ should suffice. Saves me a lot of headache, and possibly you guys too.**

**Secondly is the myths. I'm referencing a _lot_ of Greek myths in this story without giving a lot of background. This helps to streamline the story a little bit, but it wouldn't be fair if I didn't mention it. You guys probably know your stuff, since you're here in the Greek mythology section, but feel free to speak up if I lose you somewhere.**

**Okay, I'll shut up now. Happy reading!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2: Coming Home<strong>

The sun was shining brightly on the morning of the spring equinox. Even on high Olympus, where the weather was always sunny and where no foul wind ever blew, the day was more beautiful than usual. But then again, Persephone thought it was always exceptionally beautiful this time of year. The sights of the glittering halls and the soft green meadows – broken only by footpaths of smooth white marble – were to Persephone the sights of home. The sights of freedom from her husband's hellish domain.

Persephone practically ran along the path which led to her father's palace, clad in a sleeveless green dress and a girdle made of fresh spring flowers. There were a few flowers in her hair as well, fiery red locks which streamed behind her as she moved. Her face was rosy and bright, and were it not for the figure which followed behind her, one could almost forget that she was the part-time Queen of the Dead.

Hades walked behind Persephone at a slow and monotonous pace, nowhere near as happy as his bride. He had never much cared for Olympus, even before the rest of the gods had made it their home – it was too bright and too picturesque for his tastes. But now that his entire extended family dwelled there, he made a point never to visit unless it was absolutely necessary. That mountain was much like the gods themselves: beautiful and majestic in appearance, but full of strife and petty squabbles beneath its façade.

Hades and Persephone saw no one as they made their way toward Zeus's palace. This hardly came as a surprise; the Olympians tended to give Hades a wide berth no matter the circumstances, but on the first day of spring, they were especially careful not to attract the Lord of the Dead's attention. On this this day, he was _not_ in the mood to deal with them.

Thus, Hades and his reluctant bride passed unimpeded into Zeus's palace. It was a formality they observed every spring: Hades escorted Persephone directly to her father's throne, just so the kings of the Underworld and Olympus could be certain that their arrangement was not violated. In truth, Zeus probably would have preferred not to go through the motions of greeting his brother and watching him slink back to the Underworld at the end of every winter, but Hades took his bargains very seriously. Not even Zeus could get around that.

Zeus's palace was larger than all the others, a magnificent building made entirely of the purest gold, set upon the highest hill in all of Olympus. It sported no surrounding walls, for Zeus delighted in the idea of displaying his home for all to see, knowing that none would dare enter without permission. Neither did it have a courtyard; instead, a peculiar grove of oak and olive trees – sacred to Zeus – surrounded the base of the hill.

Hades and Persephone passed through the grove and entered the palace through the massive twin doors at its front. They did not stop to announce their presence or await invitation. After so many centuries, Zeus knew to expect them on this day. Besides, there was no stopping Persephone in her enthusiasm. She burst through the doors and sprinted across the main hall, calling "Father!" with joy and relief that she could no longer contain.

Hades continued at his own pace, hardly more than a saunter, and took a moment to look around. The inside of Zeus's palace was just as ostentatious as the outside. _Everything_ was made of solid gold: the floors, the walls, the columns, even the two thrones which sat upon a dais at the far end of the main hall. The hall itself was vast, with a vaulted ceiling that reached at least a hundred feet above the heads of the gods, supported by a row of pillars on either side. Windows the size of the average man were set at intervals between the pillars, allowing enough sunlight to make the entire hall glimmer and gleam. It was entirely too bright, and Hades was almost forced to squint.

By the time Hades's eyes had adjusted enough for him to see through the dreadful glare of Zeus's hall, Persephone had already reached the thrones at the opposite end. Lord Zeus himself sat in the throne on the left, dressed in a flowing white tunic pinned at one shoulder. His hair and beard were also long and white, looking rather like a mane of clouds about his head. His right arm and pectorals were bare, revealing muscles that rippled with power. His eyes were as dark as storm clouds and seemed to flash with lightning of their own. Perched beside his throne was a great golden eagle, Zeus's bird and a symbol of his might.

Hera, his queen, sat beside him in the throne on the right. She was dressed in a simple but elegant dress of white and purple, crowned with a thin circlet of gold. As she caught Hades's eye, he realized that she was everything her husband was not. Whereas Zeus's hair was bushy and white, Hera's was silky and black. Her body was slight and her skin was smooth, quite unlike her lord's coarse musculature. Zeus's eyes contained the fury of the storm; Hera's held the serenity of a cloudless sky. A peacock with magnificent plumage sat beside her throne, its feathers fanned to display the many eyes it bore. The peacock was Hera's sacred bird, and the eyes upon its train were the ultimate symbol of her jealousy.

Zeus rose from his throne and embraced Persephone warmly. "Welcome home, child," he told her, just as he did every year in that same exact tone. Hades wondered how much of it was genuine, or how much of it was simply a show to rub in exactly how much Persephone hated her husband.

Persephone did not acknowledge Hera's presence, nor did Hera do anything more than quietly glare at the goddess of spring. Of all the gods whom Zeus had fathered, Hera resented Persephone the most. At least her other stepchildren had redeeming qualities – Apollo was a fine musician and Dionysus was a delightful merrymaker – but Persephone had none in Hera's eyes. She had been a spoiled child ever since Zeus and Demeter's night of passion in the cornfield (which was a perfectly ridiculous place to conceive a child anyway). As soon as Hades had married her and she had received a taste of what the real world was like, she had wilted like the delicate flower everyone had made her out to be. Persephone's bitterness was on par with Hera's own, but what right did she have to be thus? Oh, poor Persephone, how _awful _it must have been to live with a man whose greatest mission in life was to please her. Hera would have given anything to claim as much.

But no. Hera was Zeus's queen, and any imaginings to the contrary would only worsen her mood. She could sit and she could glare at the fruit of her husband's unfaithful loins, but she could not allow herself to dream.

When Zeus and Persephone parted from their embrace, the King of the Gods looked to Hades. "Welcome, brother!"

"Zeus," Hades replied with a curt nod. To his sister, he added, "Hera."

"Hades," Hera acknowledged him. That was the extent of their conversation over the past few centuries – a mere exchange of formalities, and that was all. It was a terrible shame, Hera thought. She and Hades had been close once, unlike their other quarrelsome siblings. But after Hera's marriage to Zeus and Hades's departure for the Underworld, they had simply drifted apart. The abduction of Persephone hadn't helped matters, and now they were reduced to simply repeating each other's names at every equinox. Hera wondered what Hades thought of her now… if, indeed, he ever thought of her at all anymore.

Hades turned away from Hera and looked up at Zeus once more. "If there is nothing else, brother, then I will take my leave until the autumn equinox."

"Are you sure you will not stay?" Zeus chortled. "I'm sure our fellow gods would love to visit with you. They're all beginning to suspect you don't appreciate them."

"Then they don't need me here to correct them now," Hades answered dryly. "I could never keep track of whatever lies you've told them to besmirch my reputation. I'm afraid I would have nothing to add... unless you'd like me to tell them how you, my youngest brother, will often 'forget' to eat ambrosia or nectar to restore your youth, just so you may appear older and greater than me."

"Enough, Hades," Zeus snapped, his grin replaced with a scowl. "Do not forget with whom you speak."

"How could I, when your name is on the lips of every whore in Greece?"

"_Silence_!" Zeus bellowed, his voice accompanied by a roll of terrible thunder. "My older brother you may be, but I am still the King of Olympus. Now begone; I have nothing more to say to you. "

Hades gave a low, mocking bow. "As you command… my brother." He cast a single glance at Hera – who was smirking at the exchange from her throne safely behind Zeus – then disappeared in a swirl of black mist.

With Hades gone, Zeus turned to look at the two goddesses still in the hall. When he saw Hera still smirking and Persephone staring at him with eyes wide in shock and fear, he could suffer no more. "I said _begone_!" he roared. "Both of you! Leave me in peace!"

The goddesses did as they were told: Persephone almost breaking into a run toward the nearest door, Hera moving at a less hurried pace in the opposite direction.

Alone at last, Zeus slumped down into his throne, cursing Hades under his breath. He cursed his brother could derogate and deride him, regardless of authority, then simply retreat into the bowels of the Underworld where no one could touch him. It was a coward's tactic. If Hades would stay and face his brother like a proper god, he would have a taste of Zeus's thunderbolt for his disrespect.

But what difference did it make? Hades was gone now, and he wouldn't be back for another six months. Then more words would be exchanged and Hades would slip away with Persephone at his heels. Then the cycle would repeat as it had for centuries, as it would for all eternity. Hades was a nuisance, but not a threat. Zeus could find comfort in that knowledge. In fact, he briefly considered surprising Hera and bedding her that evening, for no other reason than to spite his brother on his first night away from Persephone. He thought better of it, since Hera always suspected him of something when he approached her with an offer of love, but the point remained the same. Hades had faded into the shadows without his bride, but Zeus was ever in control.

And there was nothing in heaven or hell that would change that.

* * *

><p>Ares, the god of war, had been sitting in his own palace when he heard the familiar approach of dainty footsteps.<p>

Ares's palace was a veritable fortress, made primarily of bronze of the same sort used in Grecian armor. Weapons of war were mounted on every wall, and a vulture (an appropriate symbol for the god of bloody battle) was perched upon his throne. The fortress had no windows, and was illuminated solely by wooden torches. The bronze almost seemed red in their dim glow, and the overall effect was one of blood and death.

Ares himself was dressed in the helmet, greaves, and breastplate of a Greek infantryman. His arms and legs, thicker even than Zeus's, remained exposed. The helmet sported a tall, red plume; beneath it, his brown hair was cut short and his eyes were ruddy, the color of a sunset over a dusty battlefield. A genial goatee framed his lips, which he presently drew into a smug little grin.

The footsteps had belonged to Persephone.

Indeed, the goddess of spring was now standing in Ares's throne room, looking as fresh and vibrant as the season she heralded. There was a bright smile on her face, and her limbs quivered with excitement. Ares retained his grin as he asked, "Has it been six months already?"

Persephone could contain herself no more. She ran at Ares and leaped into his arms, pressing her body firmly against his. "I've missed you, Ares," she whispered. "It's been far too long."

"An eternity," Ares agreed. "Now I understand our uncle's sorrow. My bed has been dreadfully cold."

Persephone giggled. "But unlike our uncle, I am only too willing to warm _your_ bed."

Not another word was spoken before their lips came together in a passionate kiss. As it deepened, Ares took the opportunity to congratulate himself on a job well done. His father would be proud.

Once upon a time, Ares had been engaged in a steamy affair with Aphrodite, the goddess of love herself. Unfortunately, after a certain incident with a bronze hunting net, the affair had lost the appeal of secrecy. Only a few decades later, Aphrodite's husband Hephaestus had stopped caring entirely. Ares grew bored of a relationship which was neither illicit nor even remotely frowned upon, and soon left Aphrodite in search of more forbidden fruits.

That was when he had first taken notice of Persephone. She was not quite on the same level as Aphrodite, but she was still beautiful in her own right. She had an air of broken innocence about her, and she was married to one of the most powerful gods in existence. An affair with the bride of Hades was _far_ more delicious than the promiscuous wife of a mere smith god.

Unfortunately, the chase had been too quick and far too easy. There was no challenge in seducing one so eager, and her arrangement with Hades meant that for six solid months, they had nothing to fear from a jealous husband. If she had been anyone else's wife, Ares would have abandoned her in a heartbeat. But he could still find enormous pleasure in the knowledge that he was sleeping with the Lord of the Dead's precious bride.

That was the only thing that gave him pleasure. Doing something solely for the sake of vexing someone else. Doing something that would place him directly in the path of an opposing force. Something that could end only in a violent and messy struggle. _Conflict_, glorious in its simple brutality. Ares was never truly happy unless he was stepping on someone else's toes, and if that meant taking Lord Hades's wife as his lover, then that was what he would do.

Ares reveled in the forbidden passion of Persephone's kiss until their lips finally parted. Persephone rested her head on Ares's armored chest and sighed contentedly. "I love you, Ares."

"And I love you, my beautiful Persephone." But of course he didn't. Love was a dreadful thing that forever stood in the way of _conflict_. Love revolted Ares, and if Persephone thought any differently, she was a fool. But then again, Persephone being a fool was not exactly breathtaking news.

Yet Persephone carried on, perfectly unaware of Ares's truest thoughts. "I wish I never had to return to my husband's wretched kingdom. I wish any other woman in the world had caught his eye. Then _they_ would have to bear that awful curse instead of me."

Ares's eyes perked at this notion, and an idea sparked inside his mind. Persephone, this spoiled, foolish girl who hadn't learned a thing in all her centuries of living, had just given him a glorious idea. How did that old saying go? Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings? Someone should really write that down. But it didn't matter, because Persephone had given him a marvelous opportunity for doing what he did best: sowing _conflict_.

Ares smiled widely. He hadn't been this excited since he'd first heard about the Trojan War. "Persephone, you've just given me a wonderful idea."

Ares pushed Persephone aside and strode purposefully toward the gates of his palace. "Wait!" Persephone called after him. "Where are you going? What idea?"

"No time to explain, my pet," Ares replied without turning around. "But know that if I succeed, you may never be forced to return to the Underworld again."

Persephone opened her mouth to object, her mind racing with a hundred questions, but she was too late. Ares was already gone, and the great bronze doors of his palace slammed shut behind him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Dun dun dunn! Just when this story started to develop an actual plot, we had to cut it short. This chapter was initially supposed to be longer, but I think cutting it off here will help the next chapter to have just what I need in there. Besides, it's been a busy week, and cutting it off here means a more timely update for you.**

**Speaking of busy weeks, I am obliged to say that I am not proud of this chapter. At all. I blame my schedule for that, but as I sit here in the editing phase, I have no clue how to make it better. So I'll just hope to be back on the ball for Chapter 3, yes?**

**What I am proud of is all the positive feedback I've gotten from you reviewers out there. Massive thanks to you for your time and generosity, and I hope to hear more in the future. **

**One last note: I noticed this chapter is a little bit heavy with the references to the gods' sex lives. Hey, it was bound to happen somewhere, right? But the suggestive content shouldn't get that thick again for some time, so depending on what you're looking for in a fanfiction, thids can be good or bad for you.**

**- Herculade**


	3. In the Garden

**A/N: I am such a hack. **

**It turns out that I started writing this thing at _exactly_ the wrong time, since I'm actually in the middle of changing residences right now. So you get this little chapter (longer than Chapter 1, at least, so it's not a total loss) before I box everything up later. This move is also responsible for what happened with Chapter 2, but it will all be over before the weekend.**

**Fortunately, this part was going to be difficult to place anyway, so making it a stand-alone chapter is as good a choice as any. This was a scene I originally wanted to place at the end of Chapter 2, but I didn't. Then I thought I'd put it at the beginning of Chapter 3, but then it got longer than I thought it would and the moving thing happened and AGH I'M A MESS! But you have my solemn vow that Chapter 4 will get this story on track, so I would be very thankful for your patience. Don't hurt me.**

**But now I'll shut up and give you what I should have called Chapter 2.5, but I didn't for the sake of the numbering sytem.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3: In the Garden<strong>

On the slopes of Mount Atlas at the edge of the earth, far away from either Olympus or the Underworld, Hera sat alone in her garden.

This was the Garden of the Hesperides, given to Hera as a wedding gift from Gaia, her grandmother. Gaia must have foreseen how disastrous her marriage would be, for the garden was the only gift Hera could truly appreciate. It was her escape, a place where she and only she could come and go as she pleased.

Hera was currently sitting in the center of the garden, under a tree that scraped the heavens and bore golden apples in its branches (the very same apples sought by Heracles for his eleventh labor). Her only companion was a serpent coiled about the tree, at least fifty feet long and too wide for a grown man's arms to fully encircle it. This was the offspring of Ladon, the hundred-headed dragon Hera had initially set to guard the tree. Heracles had killed Ladon with an arrow dipped in Hydra's blood; now, this serpent had taken its father's place.

Hera was unafraid of the serpent, and was in fact seated upon its tail. The serpent rested its head beside her, and she stroked its scales as she spoke to it. "My husband had another conquest last night," she said softly. She had no fear of being overheard; the Hesperides, daughters of Atlas and caretakers of the garden which bore their name, feared her as much as they feared the giant serpent. After all, both the dragon and the serpent had been set in place only after Hera had caught the Hesperides stealing golden apples from her tree.

The serpent listened quietly, occasionally flicking a tongue as long as Hera's arm. "Yes," she told it, "I was awake half the night wondering who she could be. A nymph, most likely; Zeus has always been fascinated by those things. Besides, I think he's finally run out of shapes he can take to fool mortals and goddesses. He's already been a swan, an eagle, a bull, a shower of gold… a _cuckoo_." Hera's face darkened for a moment as she once again remembered her shame, but then a new thought brought a smile to her face. "But you know something? I've decided I won't care anymore."

The black slits of the serpent's pupils slowly moved to look up at Hera as though to inquire further. "I'm tired of always seeking vengeance on Zeus's lovers," she went on. "It's amusing to watch his hopeless attempts to outwit me – turning Io into a cow was especially entertaining – but I've done nothing but make myself bitter and wretched. I don't want that for myself any longer. If I cannot leave my unfaithful husband, then at least I can retain my independence."

"A fine sentiment if I ever heard one."

Hera jolted in surprise; her serpent lifted up its massive head and bared its fangs, long as swords and twice as sharp. Both it and its mistress stared hard at the speaker, an intruder in the most sacred garden of the Queen of Olympus: Ares, god of war.

Hera's eyes narrowed. Ares was one of only three children legitimately born to her and Zeus, but not even that could have redeemed the war god in her eyes. No one on Olympus really liked Ares, and most hated him outright (Persephone claimed to love him, but she knew no better). He was a rabid dog, always barking at the very end of his chain and always wildly unpredictable whenever he was let loose. He was even worse than his father, Hera knew. Ares shared Zeus's massive ego, but instead of carnal pleasure Ares lusted only for bloodshed. Zeus made love; Ares made war.

Hera kept her hand on her serpent's back as she addressed her son. "Ares, give me one good reason why I shouldn't let my pet maim you where you stand."

Ares grinned. "Oh Mother, surely you can forgive your eldest child for this simple intrusion."

The serpent snapped its jaws, volatile green poison dripping from its fangs. "I'm still waiting," Hera said with a frown.

Ares's grin hardened to a more serious expression. "In truth, I had suspected that you were troubled. I'd hoped to find you before Father did and speak with you privately, but…" Slowly, Ares let a wry smile creep back onto his lips. "It seems you've already found for yourself the very advice I was about to give."

This intrigued Hera perhaps more than it should have. She nodded to her serpent, which shut its jaws in compliance, but still eyed Ares warily with its yellow reptilian eyes. Hera was no less suspicious. "_You_ were about to advise me not to go after Zeus's latest conquest? I thought that kind of strife was what you lived for."

"It is," Ares replied with a small chuckle, "but not at the expense of my poor mother. In fact, I was about to suggest something further: perhaps a vacation is in order."

Hera crossed her arms. "Isn't that what I was doing _before_ you trespassed in my sacred garden?"

Ares shook his head. "If I came in this easily, Father could as well – and that pet of yours is no match for his power. No… I was going to suggest somewhere out of Father's reach, perhaps even a place protected by another god."

Hera rolled her eyes. Ares _had _to have an ulterior motive in this, but now she was curious enough to humor her son. "And where exactly did you have in mind?"

"Oh, I don't know," Ares shrugged. "The safest place would probably be with one of your brothers. Poseidon, perhaps? Zeus has no power in the depths of his oceans. Or," the war god added, catching Hera's frown at the idea of seeking refuge with Poseidon, "I understand the Underworld has a vacancy."

Ares tried his best not to smirk when Hera paused to consider this option. The Underworld was a dark and forbidden kingdom, feared by gods and men alike. It was separated from Mount Olympus by a great gulf that no divine power could span. There was nowhere better to escape Zeus's watchful eyes. And Hades, the king, detested Zeus even more than Hera did. If Hera could convince him to give her quarter, even for a little while, she knew she would be safe. Surely he would grant that to his baby sister.

Hera smiled as she remembered the name. From the day Cronus had swallowed her (the last child to be born before Zeus and thus the last to wind up in her father's belly), Hades had called her that: his "baby sister." He was many years older than she, but the name had still driven Hera crazy at first. But it had grown on her with time, and Hades had continued to call her by it until their kingdoms and their marriages finally caused them to drift apart. Hera couldn't decide whether she wanted to cry or giggle at the memories… though with Ares present, she refused to do either.

And what exactly did Ares hope to gain from this, anyway? The only motive she could fathom was an attempt to move her far out of the way so that Ares would be better poised to strike at Zeus for one reason or another. But why now? To what end?

After careful consideration, Hera decided she didn't care. A visit to the Underworld, both to escape her joke of a marriage and to reacquaint herself with her older brother sounded perfect. Let Ares do what he wished. She could easily clean up whatever mess he made in her absence, and if Zeus got roughed up a little in the meantime, so much the better.

Hera rose to her feet and stroked her pet serpent's back, signaling to it that all was well. The serpent slowly relaxed and lay its head on the ground beside her, but its eyes were still fixed on Ares. "Very well," Hera said with the faintest hint of a smile. "I will do as you suggest."

"I'm glad to hear it," Ares replied, his own grin widening. "You deserve no less."

"Your father is not to know of my absence. You will tell no one I have left, and you will deny all knowledge of where or why I've gone."

Ares bowed and placed a fist against his plated breast. "Mother, you have my solemn word, both as an Olympian and as your eldest son."

"Good," Hera nodded. "Now, I would suggest you leave my garden before my pet devours you whole."

The half-serious threat only made Ares grin wider. "But of course, Mother. Goodbye… and good luck." Then, with a sly wink, the god of war vanished into a fine, bloody mist.

Alone in her garden once more, Hera looked down at her serpent. It stared for a moment longer at the fading red cloud where Ares had once stood, then moved at last to return its mistress's gaze. Satisfied that her garden was once again as it should be, Hera disappeared in a flash of golden light, bound for Hades's grim domain. She wasn't sure of how long she would be away, or of what would happen during her absence, but of one thing she was absolutely certain:

She had an opportunity to make things right, and she did not intend to waste it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay. I'm done with this single-scene out-of-place please-let-me-get-this-story-on-track-before-I-go-insane chapter.**

**One quick note about the story itself. I've read several different accounts of Cronus's children and the order of their birth. I'm going with the one I'm familiar with, which is the following from oldest to youngest: Hades, Poseidon, Hestia, Demeter, Hera, Zeus. Also, for the curious, Ares's full-blooded siblings (the other children of Zeus _and_ Hera) are Hephaestus and Hebe, goddess of youth.**

**Big thanks to all that read Chapter 2, bigger thanks to all that reviewed, and biggest thanks of all to those of you who are willing to forgive the madness this story is getting delayed and chopped up for. It will end soon, and maybe this story will even develop a plot before we all grow old(er).**

**- Herculade**


	4. Styx

**A/N: Hey, guess what, faithful readers (which I'm hoping I have)? I'm not dead! It took me almost a year to post this pitiful 1600-word chapter, but after such a long absence, the fact that I'm returning at all is a pretty important step for me. But yes, I am back, and I hope my subsequent updates will be longer and faster. But you didn't come here to read apologies or promises to do better from a fanfiction author, so let's get on with it.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter<strong> **4: Styx**

Hera found herself standing on the banks of the Styx, the River of Hate which encircled the Underworld. Her divine powers alone could take her no further; only Hades himself was able to come and go as he pleased through the land of the dead. All others, whether living or dead, mortal or god, were forced to cross the river the old-fashioned way.

As she waited on the banks of the river, Hera took the opportunity to find her bearings. The Underworld was dark, yes, but after a moment Hera found that her eyes had adjusted and she could see quite clearly – not that the view was particularly grand. Before her she could see nothing but the black waters of the Styx, which seemed to her more like an ocean than a river, roiling and churning with a tremendous current which would have swept even mighty Heracles into oblivion. Above her, the yawning black void of Erebus stretched out in all directions, blotting out any view of the world above. Behind her was the narrow chasm that led back to the world of the living, the only way in or out of the Underworld.

When she was certain that no one was watching her, Hera hugged herself tightly. The Underworld was vast and black and eerily quiet, and it reminded her a little too much of Cronus's belly. She had been fortunate then – she had spent the least amount of time in that hellhole, and she'd always had her siblings to comfort her. Poseidon was kind of an ass and Demeter was a flake, but Hestia had always been agreeable. And Hades had been the best big brother she could have asked for.

But for now, she was alone. She was much older now than she'd been in her father's stomach, and far more powerful, but she still could not help thinking that the sooner she reached her brother's palace, the better.

Before Hera could dwell upon these thoughts any further, she could faintly make out a shape on the on the river, growing larger and clearer as it approached. It was a simple longboat with neither sail nor oars, gliding easily across the raging current. As it drew nearer, she could make out a hunched figure standing aft of the vessel, propelling it forward with a long wooden pole. Hera felt a small chill run down her spine as she realized that it must have been Charon, the ferryman of the dead.

Hera quickly adjusted her posture and folded her arms across her chest. She still felt more than a little daunted by all that she saw, but it was not in her nature to display such weakness to anyone else – especially not here, in a strange place where she would need every shred of authority she could muster.

As the ferry pulled up to the shore where Hera stood, she got a much better look at its pilot. Charon was a pale wisp of a man, with deathly pallid skin that hugged his bones so tightly as to make him appear to be little more than a skeleton. His hair and beard were white and extremely thin. He was dressed in a loose-fitting black cloak that further emphasized his gaunt appearance. His face was devoid of expression as he arrived on the bank of the river and extended his hand toward Hera. He did not look at her, but rather seemed to stare off into empty space. "One obol," said he, his voice lifeless and hollow as an empty tomb.

Hera blinked and inhaled slowly, making one final effort to compose herself. She had anticipated this, after all, and told herself that she had no reason to be intimidated. She looked up at Charon and summoned her most authoritative tone. "I am Hera, Queen of the Gods and wife of Zeus. I demand that you take me to my brother's palace at once."

At first, Charon did not move. Hera opened her mouth to repeat herself, but she changed her mind when the ferryman slowly turned to face her. His dull grey eyes were dilated and unfocused; not even the faintest glimmer of light was reflected in them. Hera found herself staring into the eyes of a dead man, and their gaze sent a shiver down her spine that she hoped he did not see.

If Charon did take notice of her fear, he made no indication of it. "The crossing is one obol," he intoned. "No obol, no crossing."

This time, Hera did not argue. With a single wave of her hand, she produced a silver obol and placed it into Charon's waiting palm. She could have done so earlier, but in truth, she had never needed to do so before. She had never before encountered a place where all her authority as a queen and a goddess carried such little weight.

With a single fluid motion born of millennia of practice, Charon deposited the obol into a heavy coin purse which hung at his side. Then he extended his gnarled hand once more, this time to help Hera climb aboard the vessel. Hera accepted the hand as graciously as she could, though her own fingers trembled at the ferryman's icy touch.

Once Hera was safely aboard, the ferry cast off into the dark waters of the Acheron. Both the boatman and his lone passenger were silent as the vessel glided across the black, churning river as though it were a tranquil lake. Hera stood as close to the front of the vessel as she dared, watching intently for the gates of the Underworld to appear on the horizon. Before she caught sight of them, however, she heard Charon speak to her once more. "I would caution thee, O Queen of Gods."

Hera turned to look at Charon, but said nothing. Caution _her_? Under any other circumstances, she would have scoffed at the idea. She was untouchable in heaven and on Earth; what could she possibly need to be cautioned against? But it took only one word from Charon's cracked, bloodless lips to remind her that she was in neither of those places. She was in hell, and in hell even a goddess had reason to fear.

"The world of men is far above us," Charon said, "the world of the gods even more so. Here, the name of Zeus means nothing; Olympus is less to us than a dream. Hades alone is our Lord and Master. Do not expect thy name or that of thy husband to earn thee privilege in the world of the dead."

The ferryman's warning should have daunted Hera all the more. She was a stranger in a strange land, surrounded by darkness and death, and now she understood on no uncertain terms that she had no power here. She was no better than any mortal who might have descended into Hades's dark domain. She was perhaps even worse off than they – Orpheus had come with his lyre, Heracles with his strength, Aeneas with his golden bough and a sibyl to guide him. Hera had only her inherent godhood to rely upon, and in a place designed to trap the immortal souls of the dead for all eternity, that was of little comfort.

But Hera thought on none of these things. Her eyes were wide, but not in fear. All her fears were quite forgotten now. All Hera could think of were the seven beautiful words that now echoed in her mind like the chiming of victory bells. _The name of Zeus has no meaning here_. Hera had never heard such wonderful news in all her life. She had no authority here, true, but neither did her husband. Even if he bothered to look for her, even if he managed to _find_ her here, he would have the entire Underworld to contend with before he could drag her back to Olympus. For the first time since she'd held that cuckoo bird to her breast so long ago, Hera had found true refuge. She was _free_. And once that realization dawned on her, the rest didn't matter. For this freedom, she would face all that the Underworld had to offer. She would look her brother Hades in the eyes and ask him to give her quarter in his own palace, no matter what fearful things she saw or heard in the Land of the Dead.

Hera couldn't stop a smile from tugging at her lips, but she turned away so that Charon could not see. When she did so, she finally found herself staring at the entrance to the Underworld. It was not at all like she expected – there were no looming iron gates, no shrieking monsters circling round about it, no warnings to ABANDON EVERY HOPE, YE WHO ENTER HERE. There was only a giant open archway made of black obsidian, set between two high walls that seemed to stretch into infinity in either direction. As the ferry drew closer, Hera could see countless souls of the recently deceased passing unimpeded through the archway. Perhaps, Hera thought, this would be easier than she'd feared.

At last, Charon's boat reached the shore directly in front of the archway. This time, Hera didn't flinch as he helped her disembark. "Remember what I have told thee, O Queen of Gods," he said to her. "If we meet again, it will be by the grace of Lord Hades alone."

"I will remember," Hera replied with a nod, and no more words were shared between them before Charon once again set course for the opposite shore. For the second time, Hera found herself alone in the dark.

But this time, she was ready.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: And there you have it, my inglorious return from the dark depths of not-having-enough-timein-my-schedule-to-write-until-very-recently. Is it just me, or did the layout of this site change about three different times since I last posted? Oh well.**

**I made the Styx the entrance to the Underworld because every source I have ever consulted, withth the exception of Dante's _Inferno_, say that the Styx is the river to be crossed. It's hardly worth mentioning, but I thought I might just in case there are Dante fans in the audience.**

**Leave a review if you forgive me for abandoning you. :)**

**-Herculade.**


End file.
